


Notes

by Ciule



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amortentia, F/M, Potion Brewing (Harry Potter), Potions, Research, Teacher-Student Relationship, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27355210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ciule/pseuds/Ciule
Summary: Professor Snape read it silently, his black eyes moving over her handwriting, reading it once, twice and even a third time. Folding it again, pocketing it, he merely said: “Really, Miss Granger?”-An intercepted note in class landed Hermione in trouble with Professor Snape. Though, her theory might be more than intriguing to the stern Professor.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 58
Kudos: 529





	Notes

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe it? I read a prompt (sort of) in a Facebook group, and … this came out, in the space of one afternoon. It’s a quick oneshot, nothing more.

“Oooh, what’s this?” Ron whispered, gleefully smoothing out her carefully folded piece of parchment. “A love letter?” 

Around them, the Defense class was quiet, the only sounds being the quills scratching on the parchment and pages being turned in the textbooks as the students worked on their vampire essay. 

Trying to snatch her note back, she failed, because Ron held it above his head, resulting in her jumping up and down, trying to catch it. 

Breathing heavily, she went for her wand, as Ron cackled: “Oh, it’s serious, then? Let’s see what this is…” 

Gritting her teeth, she hissed: “ _Accio!_ ” making the note soar back into her hands. 

Ron tutted, still grinning, as he said in a sing-song voice: “We’ll find out soon enough, because I expect you won’t be able to keep the secret…” 

Then his voice failed him, when Professor Snape suddenly loomed over them. 

“Sending notes in my class, are you, Miss Granger?” 

Hermione blanched, before sending Ron her utmost glare. _Landing her in trouble in Professor Snape’s class, of all things…_

“Give me the note, Miss Granger,” the Professor said, a condescending sneer on his face. 

Slowly, she handed him the parchment. _What would he make of it?_

Professor Snape read it silently, his black eyes moving over her handwriting, reading it once, twice and even a third time. Folding it again, pocketing it, he merely said: “Really, Miss Granger?” 

The Slytherins snickered in the background, and Snape’s arched eyebrow was as disdainful as ever. In his eyes, however, she saw something that she had rarely seen before: _Curiosity. Severus Snape was curious about her theory._

“See me after class,” he said dismissively, before moving on. 

Ron mumbled something apologetically at her, shrugging with a helpless look in his eyes, but she merely glared at him. _It was his fault for attracting Professor Snape’s attention._

Xxxx

“An intriguing idea, Miss Granger,” her Professor said slowly, after the last student had left the classroom, Pansy Parkison grinning spitefully at her, mouthing something nasty about her apparent love interest being doomed to be one-sided due to Hermione looking like a troll. 

Hermione had rolled her eyes at the smirking Slytherin girl. _As if this had anything to do with a love letter! Though, she had to admit, love was the inspiration, so to speak. Unrequited love, to be frank._

Now, in front of her Professor, she kept quiet, her face blank, because while his words sounded promising, Professor Snape might easily turn about and give her detention. 

Surely enough, he continued: “However, this was not a part of your essay on vampires. Actually, this is not even related to Defense against the Dark Art. I cannot accept such behaviour in my class.” 

Her shoulders slumped, and glumly, she knew her stern Professor would set a detention. _Hopefully, for only one night, and hopefully, it wouldn’t be a disgusting task. Maybe she’d have to go hunting for Boggarts or feed a selection of dark creatures._

Looking oddly pensive, he intoned: “I find myself interested in your idea. What sensory illusions were you aiming to create?” 

She reddened, because … _it was kind of obvious, wasn’t it?_

Her note had read: “Sensory illusions: Adder venom in Amortentia?” 

Her Professor gave her a fleeting look that she could only describe as _amused,_ before his face fell back into his customary blankness. 

“How did you come up with such an idea, Miss Granger? If this would be a success, you’d be able to register your patent, possibly earning millions of Galleons worldwide.” 

Her eyes widened, because she hadn’t thought that far - yet. _The idea had sparked while she read about the properties of adder venom, and her first thought had been for her own, personal gain. Lacking time, she had merely jotted down the cursory idea, folding the parchment, and somehow, it had ended up in her Defense essay._

“You mean … my idea have merit?” her voice was almost a squeak, but her Professor nodded calmly. 

“It might have. It needs more research, of course, but … I’d say after a month of detention, the results should be clear.” 

“A month?” Horrified, she stared at him, before repeating the words in a whisper: “A month?” 

“Yes. You’ll serve your detentions with me - every night after dinner - for a month, in which we’ll attempt to test your idea. If you succeed, lonely people all over the world will be thanking you, Miss Granger.” 

“Oh.” Her face felt much too hot, and she lowered her gaze. _This, researching a new potion with Professor Snape would be a fantastic opportunity. She would learn so much from him, though she’d be hard pressed to keep up with her other classes. And besides… brewing with him, alone, at night, would be…_

With a curious expression on his face, he muttered: “Do you routinely form theories on how to improve potions? Perhaps… you even do spell construction?” 

“Ummm, yes, sir.” Defiant, she looked up, because she was _proud_ of her work. _Not even Severus Snape could make her look bad for being interested in improving magic._

“What have you done? Give me examples.” 

Hermione swallowed. _One thing was to create things on her own and tinker with spells for the benefit of herself and her friends, it was quite another thing to present this to Severus Snape, mean and brilliant Professor extraordinaire._

Fortifying herself, she decided to offer up something. _Something that actually had worked quite well._ “Last year, I created a method of communication for … Dumbledore’s Army, by way of a modified Protean Charm. By changing the numbers and letters on a Galleon, we could write short messages to each other.” 

His eyes widened. “Effective, certainly more humane, though slightly less … impractical,” he muttered. 

“Pardon, sir?” she asked in confusion. 

“This is reminiscent of the Dark Mark,” he said, giving her a side-long glance, as if he was monitoring her reaction closely. 

Looking straight at him, she said, hiding her smile and her pleasure that he had seen _right_ to the core of her spellwork: “That was my inspiration for the modification. It seemed useful.Though, as you say, my version is more humane.”

His lips tugged, like he was somehow, _impossibly,_ smiling. “But less practical. You would have to keep track of the coin, bringing it with you at all times, while you can’t shed your own skin.” 

“There’s that,” she nodded, because the coins getting lost had in fact been her biggest worry until Marietta Edgecomb had decided to turn traitor. 

Clearing his throat, he muttered: “Run along now, Miss Granger. I expect to see you in my office at eight p.m. sharp. Bring your protective gloves, and **_don’t mention_ **a word of what you’ll be doing to anyone.” 

Xxxx

Her heart hammering in her throat, she knocked on Professor Snape’s office door at eight p.m. sharp, like he had told her to do. 

The sound of her fist knocking on the wooden door felt like a heavy thud of doom, and her palms were sweaty. _Spending time with her Professor, handling Amortentia, aiming to create a sensory illusion - oh, this could go so wrong in so many ways. She could be … found out, and if she didn’t die of mortification, she might be expelled. Her only comfort was that her Professor might be affected by the fumes of the love potion too. Maybe they would end up in a mutual deal of destruction. Him not telling her, because she knew something about him, or…_

Forcing down a near hysterical giggle, her excitement for the research and her fear of being affected by the Amortentia making her so nervous and tense, she startled as the door suddenly opened. 

“Enter,” her Professor said in a drawl, staring down at her. He was still in his frock coat, rows upon buttons neatly closed, though he had foregone his robes. His hair was lanky as always, hanging down, framing his sallow face, eyes cold and impassive as usual. 

Upon entering, she almost blinked. The office was dark, empty, and it certainly didn’t look like anyone would be brewing in here. _No cauldrons, no supplies…_

Stopping, feeling uncertain, she glanced at Professor Snape. 

“Come on in, we haven’t all day,” he muttered, before giving her a small push at the small of her back, indicating that she should move. 

He walked past her, to a door by the end, and she followed him, eyes wide open. _Would they be brewing in his private quarters? How would Professor Snape’s rooms look?_

There was a long, narrow hall, almost tunnel-like, the stone ceiling feeling like it pressed down on her. There was a faint light from gently bobbing witchlights along the walls, and the robes of her Professor rustled as he moved. She followed him close by, concentrating on not … _smelling_ anything other than the dusty stone walls. 

Through an arched doorway, they entered a sitting room, but he guided her quickly through - _bookshelves along the walls, a fireplace, reading chairs -_ she noted quickly, before they entered a private lab. 

_It was immaculate, there was no other word for it._ Taking in the room, cauldrons in pristine condition, stirring sticks of all sizes and materials, rows upon orderly rows of ingredients on shelves… she felt like she had entered potion heavens. _Maybe she had, at that._

“I have a batch of Amortentia on hand,” he said, his lips tugging faintly, like he was amused. “Believe me, Granger, I have no wish to sniff out whatever little school girl crushes you harbour. To be frank, nothing could be further from my interest than finding out which boy you’ve set your sights on.” 

Feeling a deep flush crawling up her neck, she swallowed. _It was good, wasn’t it, that he wouldn’t be snooping? Because if he did, it would be a disaster._

“Thank you, sir,” she croaked out. 

“So, about the adder venom. Have you put any thoughts on if it should be freshly harvested or fermented? You see, Miss Granger, the effects on the mind might be altered if the venom is fermented, but I think it would be prudent to test both. As for the amounts…” 

Xxxx

Dazed, she left his office three hours later. She had never learned so much about potioneering in such a short amount of time, but what had bowled her over, was his apparent keen interest and delight in formulating theories and testing them. Her stern Professor had not been sarcastic, nor snarky, and it was as if he had shed a layer of his protective shield, showing her the brilliant and curious man underneath. 

_And those fumes… It was a good thing he hadn’t tried to find out what she had smelled. Her knickers were all wet, and… all she had smelled, was him._

Xxxx

Their brewing progressed quickly, but Harry and Ron were worried. “Merlin, Hermione, you should talk to McGonagall. He can’t keep you in detention for a month for such a small transgression,” Harry said, eyeing her pale face with a troubled expression. “You do your other homework late in the night, and you barely have time to eat! It’s not good for you, Hermione, you need to relax.” 

Ron felt guilty for being the cause of her detentions to the point where he had offered to do her Astronomy homework, but at that, she had merely laughed heartily. “No thanks,” she wheezed, holding her stomach, “I’ll manage. Please!” 

Ron looked somewhat hurt, but what did he expect? _She couldn’t let her marks fall_ **_that_ ** _far!_

Instead, she looked forward to her ‘detentions’, and to her surprise, she thought Professor Snape might enjoy it too. When brewing, he was deeply concentrated, just like herself, and soon it was as if they had always worked together. 

If he needed more ingredients for the brew, he’d hold out a hand, and she would instinctively see what he meant, handing him the right ingredients. If she was chopping, he’d replenish her stock silently to keep her busy, and when she got tired of stirring, he’d take over. It was like a silent dance, in which their only communication was their body language, and it felt deeply satisfying, like true teamwork. 

After the first session of brewing, he had shown up without his frock coat, working with rolled-up shirtsleeves, wiry but strong arms exposed to her glance. That made her feel ... _strange_ ... knowing that she was the only student at Hogwarts who’d see him like that. The potion fumes of the Amortentia hung heavy in the air, making her feel … so excited, so ready for her theory to work. _Or else, she’d never experience what she wanted the most._

Taking a deep breath, she couldn’t help feeling as if butterflies tumbled around in her stomach. This night would be the first test. They would actually taste their brew, the Professor having ascertained that the level of adder venom wouldn’t be dangerous. 

There was a tickling sense of anticipation, and she felt oddly warm - almost heavy - by the thought of experiencing _him_ touching her, except for it being an… _illusion_. 

“So, Miss Granger, it’s important to not test brews when one is alone, in case of poisoning or .. unexpected … effects. In this case, however, due to the nature of this brewing, we’ll test this in separate rooms. You’ll stay in here,” the Professor said, looking almost excited, holding his phial, “while I’ll retire to my bedroom. I expect for the effects of such a small sample to last fifteen minutes at the most. Bottoms up!” 

She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching her own phial, before downing the forest green brew. _It smelled of cedar, parchment and green, growing things, and the taste was rich on her tongue, like dark chocolate, smoked bacon and a red, fruity Port wine._

Dazed, feeling almost drunk, her chest heaving, she looked up at her Professor, seeing a look of utter surprise on his face, before he stumbled from the room, slamming the door in his haste to leave. 

Closing her eyes again, she imagined him, touching her. _And yes, she could feel it, like a ghostly touch over her arm, large, calloused hands stroking upwards, reaching her shoulders, pressing down a little, squeezing her, before encircling her throat, making her gasp and tremble. A featherlight touch, before there was a brief pressure on her windpipe, making her shiver in delight, moving upwards, cupping her chin, one long finger entering her mouth, letting her suckle his finger, stroking it with her tongue. The finger thrust lightly into her mouth, like it was a substitute for something else, and she moaned, thinking about him using her like this, maybe on her knees before him._

Suddenly, it was over, and the world felt so cold, so dreary, so grey and empty. Shivering, she almost sniffled. _It had worked, alright, but at what price? Yes, all the lonely people in the world would thank her, but they would also feel so much more alone, so lost afterwards, knowing it wasn’t real._

Huddling into herself for a few moments, on the verge of tears, she heard her Professor’s steps, his dragon boots coming down heavily, before he knocked on the door, hesitantly. 

“Granger? Are you … ?” 

She knew what he might ask: _Are you decent? Are you alright? Are you back in control?_

“Yes,” she said weakly, and as he entered, he had the same haunted look to him that she felt too. 

“Did it..?” he asked quietly, and she nodded. 

“For me too, though… There must have been a mistake,” he mumbled, eyes with a faraway look. 

“What?” she asked. “I … it was like I expected.” 

“Yes, it worked,” he said heavily, “but the Amortentia …” Swallowing, he muttered: “I didn’t experience the one I expected to … feel.” 

“Oh.” She had no idea what to say, having never thought he’d confess something so deeply personal to her, but in the end, she mumbled: “I hope it was alright, even so.” 

He snorted. “It was,” he said curtly, “but we do have some work to do. This - the withdrawal symptoms - must be amended, preferably negated in its entirety.” 

“Yes,” she nodded, “I felt… sad.” 

“Indeed,” he said dryly. “If what you imagined is unattainable, then you _will_ feel sad, no matter how we tinker with the aftereffects.”  
She nodded, still feeling that awkward sense of loss - _a loss that wasn’t a real loss, but a feeling nonetheless -_ and swallowed. “Sir, if we negate the aftereffects, won’t that affect how we perceive the limit between reality and illusion?” 

“It might, Granger. The brew might be more dangerous for it, letting people act on their illusions instead.” 

“Ok, sir. I have a few ideas, if you think it’s safe to proceed.” 

Xxxx

Working on the aftereffects proved difficult, and they had one catastrophic brew which reduced her into tears for half an hour. Snape looked haggard and drawn himself, but still he handed her a handkerchief, saying nothing of how she blubbered, tears falling freely, soaking his handkerchief and her own sleeves on her robe. 

Still, each test seemed to make her more attuned to him, like she also got to know the real man better through the touches from the illusionary man in her potion-induced state. 

_He would kiss her, lips meeting hers hungrily, peppering her jaw and throat with kisses and little bites, making her gasp and tremble. Or, he would run his hands over her, touching every part of her body, until she was on the cusp of an orgasm - but she never let go. Not in his chambers, not so close to the real thing. When he returned, he would at times look somewhat flushed too, like the illusory encounters with his dream witch had been heated. They never looked at each other afterwards, not acknowledging the state of the other, just discussing the aftereffects, and if the modifications and tests they did had been an improvement, or not._

Finally, after another week, they had something that they both believed would solve the problem. To the modified Amortentia, they had added two stalks of rue, a pinch of powdered, dried nightshade and for the finish: twelve pomegranate seeds to bind and stabilize their emotions. 

“This will work,” Professor Snape said confidently, pushing his hair back as he peered into the gold cauldron they had been using. He looked younger, somehow, when they were brewing, and it was easier to see that he was a man in the middle of his thirties, not just an older, grumpy teacher. 

She smiled at him, pleased with their success, and happy that it had been her suggestion - _the pomegranate seeds -_ that had solved the problem. 

Then he shrugged. “It’s too late tonight for testing, we must do it tomorrow.” Putting the brew in stasis, he turned around, cleaning the lab with a few complicated but useful spells that she had been trying to duplicate on her own. 

Giving her a small grin which she could only describe as _wicked,_ he said: “There’s only ten minutes until curfew, but this calls for a drink. Though… you wouldn’t want to be caught outside your Common room so late, now would you?” 

Blinking, she realized he was _daring_ her. Arching an eyebrow, taking it in her stride, she said sweetly: “If someone caught me, I could always say I had a drink with Professor Snape.” 

He chuckled, the sound like molten chocolate, and gave her an amused glance. “They’ll never believe you, unless they dosed you with Veritaserum - which I _wouldn’t_ provide. So… will you take the offer or not?” 

She took a deep breath, saying more confidently that she felt: “Yes sir, I’d like a drink.” 

He gestured for her to enter his sitting room, and she plopped down on one of the reading chairs by the fire while he fixed them a stiff Firewhisky. 

Stopping for a moment, he asked: “Granger, you are of age, right?” 

Softly, she replied “yes. I turned seventeen in September.” 

Handing her a crystal tumbler, he sat down by the fireplace in the other wingback chair, resting his elbow on his knee, staring into the dancing flames. The dungeon room was chilly, the November cold seeping through the bedrock, but the fire warmed her front, making heat seep into her alongside the warmth from her smoking drink. 

They drank in silence, until he suddenly said: “I’ve enjoyed this - the research. You’ll do well as a potioneer, if you want to, but I imagine you must have so many ... plans ... for your life.” 

Rousing from her thoughts, she felt a vague shock. _Severus Snape was inquiring what she’d do after Hogwarts? She’d never thought he’d ask her for anything personal, though it maybe wasn’t that far off for a teacher to ask a star student what they might be up to after school. Or did he mean…?_

“Uh,” she said, before deciding to go for it, “I would love to, but I’d need a competent Master for my Apprenticeship. Someone I could get along with.” 

_Sweet Lord, it was out there, she couldn’t ask more clearly than this, if she wasn’t to ask him outright._

“Of course,” he said, unaffected, “you’d need the very best there is.” 

Dumbfounded, she stared at him. _It was well-known that he was the best potioneer in Britain. Did he mean…?_

Giving her a small smirk, he said, deep voice making shivers run down her spine: “Finish your drink, Granger. Or else you’ll still be out in the corridors as my rounds start in fifteen minutes. I’d rather not dock points for your … tardiness.”

Xxxx

“Bottoms up!” 

They had decided to make the test full-scale, taking a normal dose of the Amortentia since the session started so early. He claimed the first two hours were the most intense, so if there were lingering after-effects as she returned to Gryffindor Tower, she’d be able to mask it to anyone she encountered. 

Hermione drank, feeling the familiar feeling of heat, desire, want and love well up, but stronger than usual, almost overwhelming her. 

Snape’s eyes became glassy, and he swallowed. For some reason, _he didn’t leave the room._

He always did, almost running to his bedroom after downing the potion - _doing Merlin knew what in there, her wicked brain added -_ but now, he stayed, breathing heavily as he watched her, something predatorily coming to light in those black eyes. 

She felt as if she couldn’t breathe, her blood thundering in her veins as she held his gaze, and as he took a small step forward, she made a shuddering exhale. _Yes, maybe, he would… she would not be so lonely tonight, no loss of her dream lover, he was here, coming for her, and…_

In two steps, he was upon her, grabbing her chin, kissing her fiercely, panting into her mouth, his lips closing over hers, prodding her lips open, his tongue in her mouth and his hands around her waist, and _oh_ , it was better than the potion alone, it was fantastic, the scent of him, her Amortentia, his touch setting fire to her abdomen, making her squirm as he pressed her close to his body. 

With a small growl, he turned her around, bending her over the large, empty pewter cauldron standing on the floor cauldron stand. 

“This,” he whispered in her ears, “this is all I’ve been thinking of these nights when we’ve tested the brew. To go back here, to touch you, to bend you over my cauldron and…” 

His hands stroked her arms, starting by her wrists, moving upwards, his body caging her in, pressing her into the cauldron. Resting her head on one shoulder, a small shudder of bliss running through her, she moaned as his mouth came down on the sensitive side of her neck, licking, kissing and lightly biting her, making her arch up, pressing back at him. 

Trailing down again, his hands came around her front, cupping her breasts, squeezing lightly with a drawn-out groan, before he attached the buttons on her shirt, opening them with a whispered spell, letting his hands inside her shirt, touching the skin above her bra, tickling her, making her writhe, her thighs squirming to get friction in _that_ place. 

One hand slid south, underneath the waistband of her skirt, skimming underneath her tights, reaching the place that ached for him. 

“Oh Merlin,” he muttered, “you’re so wet, I can feel it. Gods, girl, do you know what you’re doing to me?” 

He pushed his hips into her arse, and she could feel it: A thick, hard length poking at her back. Another moan left her, and she thrust her hips back at him, as he rubbed her knickers, before pulling back his hand. She almost whimpered by the loss, but he mumbled hoarsely: “I need to smell you, girl, taste you…” 

She could hear him put his finger in mouth with a satisfied groan, but then he seemed to be in a hurry. 

“ _Divesto_!” 

Her tights and knickers disappeared, and from behind her, she felt him fumbling with his fly. Her head swam, like she was dizzy. _It’s happening. He, the man who smells like my Amortentia, who says he also thinks of me when he’s under the influence of the potion, is about to take me._

And all she could think was _finally._

Pushing her down by the small of her back, he took himself in hand, kicking her legs apart, and something large and smooth poked at her core, pushing at her. 

“You’re so slick, so wet for me,” he mumbled, trying to press his cock into her. “But.. .so tight, so very tight, you’re going to make me come in an instant, and…” 

There was a sensation of stretch, like he was trying to put something impossibly big inside her, and it wouldn’t work, no, he was too big - and then he slid in with a grunt. 

A small whimper left her, like the breath was knocked out of her, feeling so full, so stretched, like she was stuffed full and about to burst, bordering on painful. 

With a choked mutter, he said: “Merlin, girl, how can you be this tight? Have you never done this before?” 

“No,” she mumbled, feeling briefly ashamed, before his reaction made it clear that he was more than pleased. 

“Oh fuck, I’m your first, am I? Wait, Granger, I’ll make it good for you, oh, you feel so good…” 

One hand snaked around her hips, down to her soaked sex, and he found her little nub, rubbing her, making her writhe against his hand, jostling the big thing inside her. 

“That’s it, girl, you’re doing so good,” he praised her, “taking my cock like this. Relax, and I’ll make it so much better, making you come on my cock.” 

The potion and his touch made her burn, and faster, much faster than she had ever achieved orgasm by masturbating, she felt her belly start to clench, tremors fluttering around his shaft inside her, and then the waves crashed over her, setting her adrift, sinking, gasping and pleading for “ _More, please more, sir, more!”_

She shuddered around him, deep convulsions going through her, like an earthquake, and he groaned, hips starting to thrust. “Gods, Granger, I can’t keep it back, you feel so wonderfully tight, and…” 

With a few hard, erratic thrusts he groaned, and she could feel him pulsing inside her, emptying himself inside like he wanted to fill her up to the brim. 

Leaning over her, he nuzzled into her neck for a moment, breathing hard, as they both came down from the heights of bliss. 

Then he pulled back, righting himself, before saying slowly: “Gods, Granger… I … shouldn’t have _done_ that. I apologize… My conduct is unforgivable… I… you, a student, and I…” 

Breathing hard, she turned around, her skirt falling down, covering her legs, though her shirt was still unbuttoned. Slowly, between her legs, a slick wetness slid down her thighs. 

He was tucking himself in, not looking at her, but she said slowly: “Did you not mean it, sir?” 

“What?” he said sharply, like he was embarrassed. 

“When you thought of me, under the influence.” 

His sallow cheeks flushed, but then he nodded, looking at her defiantly. “I meant it. The stronger dose just… overcame my sensibilities. Yes, Granger, I’ve been lusting after you, a student, since we started this. You, so brilliantly clever, so lovely, and…” 

He swallowed, before continuing bitterly: “I realize, your Amortentia was someone else. You don’t have to explain. I’m sorry for ruining this for you.” With a shrug, his face carefully controlled, he added: “I’m going to write my resignation letter now. You don’t have to explain yourself to Dumbledore. I take all the responsibility.” 

“Sir.” she tugged at his sleeve, making him look at her. Those black eyes, usually so blank, were all of a sudden full of emotions: pain, darkness, disappointment, rage and … love. 

“Sir,” her voice was but a whisper: “Sir, my Amortentia was always you. You don’t have to resign. I’m happy. Pleased. Overjoyed - and _overwhelmed_ \- that you thought of me too. Please, stay here at Hogwarts. With me.” 

The look in his eyes changed for a brief moment into something feral, possessive, before he grabbed her, pressing her to his chest. 

“Girl… _Hermione_ , I will. If you’ll have me here, I’ll stay. If you’ll have me, I’ll … oh, you’ll be mine.” 

Looking up into his face, she found that she had no words for this. _Her little idea, idly scribbled down before class one day, had won her the wizard of her dreams. He was here, now, ready to claim her._ Nodding fiercely, she said: “I will have you. Now. Forever. I never thought I could have you, but yes, I’m yours. And you, sir, you will be _mine_.” 

Xxxx

 _FIN_


End file.
